I have wounds only you can mend
by Genuinlysherlocked
Summary: It's 3 years after the final battle, and a broken Draco finds himself selling his body to try and survive in the muggle world. Can Harry save his former rival from his desolate life?
1. My skin is rough

Draco had fallen hard after the war, lost everything. He had been pardoned, but that didn't mean he was really in the clear. No one wanted anything to do with 'death eater scum' except to hurt him. He had been mobbed and beaten more than once. They also cut off access to his money … his home … his father rotting in Azkaban … everything he knew and loved … gone. All he had was his wand.

So he escaped to the Muggle world, moved into a small bedsit in the middle of a concrete jungle of flats, tried to escape his past and start a new life, but he had no skills. He couldn't cook, couldn't clean. Couldn't do any of the menial task unqualified labourers had to do- he's spent his life being waited on by house elves, he knew nothing of how to do a day's work. He tried, working night shifts at a café, but he was clumsy and short tempered, and eventually the boss stopped giving him shifts. He could paint, having used it as a respite from his father during his youth but he couldn't afford the supplies for that.

Eventually, after months of working job to job, missing meals and going cold at night, he did the only thing he could think of: he sold himself. He didn't want to, but he needed to make money somehow, he needed to feed himself and home himself and dress himself. There were plenty of needy businessmen in the financial district who were desperate for a night with a young man, who could give them what their oblivious wives never could. They were quick and rough and desperate for a good fuck, and Draco was willing to give them what they wanted, if they paid his fee.

But the money was uncertain, and he'd been kicked out of his bedsit after he could keep up the rent. He's moved in with his pimp, sleeping on a dam sofa in the corner of a dingy living room, leaving before dawn and not coming back until late in the night. His pimp was charging him rent as well as taking a cut of his fees, which left him with barely enough for food, and definitely not enough to try and get his own place. He was working whenever and wherever he could.

That's how he found himself standing on a street corner, wearing very short, practically see-through pants and a sleeveless shirt, waiting for a possible customer….

Harry, on the other hand, had risen higher than ever before after the war. The famous "boy who lived" became the Saviour of the Wizarding World, and for a while he revelled in it. He enjoyed finally having the ability to rest, to do something for himself, without thinking of the consequences. He was, perhaps, even more reckless than he had ever been before. It didn't matter if he went riding round on Sirius's bike, or performed intricate stunts on his broom. If he died, it didn't mean the end of the world, if he was gone, life would go on. He was free.

But that freedom came with a cost. He couldn't go out in a wizarding town without being recognised and followed by swarms of fans and journalist, craving the attention of the Chosen One. When it became too much, he had escaped to the Muggle world, the world he grew up in. He sold Grimmauld Place, cut all ties with the wizarding world, and moved into a flat in Central London. It was small, but it was elegantly furnished. The location of the house meant it was pricey, over 100,000 galleons. He was surrounded by young couples who were desperate to have a slice of city life, but couldn't afford to buy a house. He found that he didn't mind the costs, the flat was perfect. Victorian, with high ceilings and wooden floors, painted with soft greys. He shied away from any colours-he associated them with Hogwarts, with houses and quidditch and spells and curses and-…

He was wandering the streets near his home when he spotted a familiar figure on the street in front of him, walking towards him, shocked. "Draco. What are you doing here?"

Draco froze when he heard a familiar voice; it certainly wasn't his pimp's, but it could be any of his regular 'customers'. He slowly turned to face him, his eyes widening when he saw green eyes and black hair. ''P-potter?'' he asked in surprise.

Harry was initially amused by Draco's choice of clothes. He assumed that like many of the wizards harry had met before, he was trying to blend in with muggles, and failing miserably. "What on earth are you wearing? You look like a prostitute!" He said, chuckling softly at the idea.

Draco looked down at those words, using what he'd learned from his father to control his emotions, not letting the tears spill. ''Just leave.'' he sighed, fiddling with the tight shirt, that was even more see-through than his pants.

"Malfoy, hey, what's wrong?" He said, lifting Dracos chin so he could look in his eyes. "It's not a problem, you just dont want people to..get the wrong idea."

''It won't be the wrong idea.'' he managed to say through gritted teeth, wrenching away from his grasp, not wanting to see the disgust that was sure to flit across his face. ''Now _leave_.''

"What? You mean..." Harry trailed off, understanding dawning on his face. "Draco...Why?" He felt cold chill go down him as all the amusement drain from him. Draco _was _a prostitute. It was Harry who'd got the wrong idea.

Draco snarled at the floor, desperately keeping back the tears. ''Because, Potter, I have no other means of earning money.'' he said, his hands curling into fists, preparing to defend himself, to run. Tension radiated from his entire body.

"But...All your fathers money, the Malfoy estate, you never stopped talking about it at school. What happened?" Harry reached for Draco's hand, but he quickly pulled away, shocked by the icy feeling of them. "Merlin, you're freezing. Take this." He said, shrugging off his jacket.

''The Ministry saw it fit to seize control of my vaults.'' he said, flinching away from his touch but shaking his head at the jacket - it would only be taken away, and he'd gotten used to the cold, anyway. ''What part of 'leave' is difficult to understand, Potter?'' he asked, trying to be the same person who'd sneered at him daily and failing.

"Draco, don't. Let me help you. You don't deserve this." He was completely shocked at this revelation, he'd assumed Malfoy had sold off all the estates and was sunning it up somewhere hot, surrounded by beautiful women. Not this. The though had never crossed his mind.

He looked down, wrapping his arms around himself, more protection from everyone around them than the cold wind. The shirt covered any bruises he had on his chest and back, but the ones on his arms were visible when he moved them.

Harry gasped when he saw them. "Look at what you're doing to yourself, Draco!" Harry hissed out, rage boiling in him as he saw the bruises. "You're going to refuse my help because of your damn pride?!"

''No, I'm going to refuse your help because there's nothing you _can_ do.'' he said, his eyes flashing with hurt for a moment. ''Now please leave.'' he said in a soft voice.

"I'm not going to leave you here, Draco. I have a house 'round the corner from here. If you don't come with me I'll stun you and drag you there myself." Harry was bluffing, he didn't even have his wand on him, but he hoped that Draco would choose the more dignified option.

Draco looked up at that, pointedly ignoring the moisture at the corners of his eyes. He wished he hadn't left his wand in his flat, but he didn't want it to get broken. He considered his options. He didn't doubt that Potter would stun him- he was certain that he was still the arrogant boy he was at school. "Fine, Potter. But you're going to have to pay me…."


	2. But it can be cleansed,

Previously- "Fine, Potter. But you're going to have to pay me…."

Harry smirked slightly. "Fine." He said, willing to do whatever it took. "How much will it cost for you to never do this again?" Harry had accumulated a vast amount of money, with his Potter inheritance, as well as the estates he received from being the sole heir to the Black inheritance. George was still insisting that he got his cut from the Wizard Wheezes products-they were making more money than ever, and George still hadn't quite got over the loss of his partner, demanding that Harry take Fred's share. He was living modestly in the muggle world-as expensive as London was, he avoided spending extravagantly. He was certain he could match any price Draco decided on.

Draco was shocked at how far Potter was willing to go to help him. He was sure that this was just some superficial need of his to do a good deed, but when Potter wrapped his jacket around Draco's arms, ignoring his weak protests, he knew it was more than that. Harry gently put a hand on the small of his back, and guided him towards his home. Draco subconsciously leaned into Harry slightly, revelling in the warmth that came from more than just body heat. "I… I can't quit, Harry. This is all I have."

Harry smiled slightly at Draco's use of his first name; he could feel the wall between them falling slowly down. He understood, to an extent, his need to cling to the one thing that was his. But what he couldn't understand is how Draco would let this continue to happen to him, not when there was another option, a way out. "Fine. How much for just the night? We'll go from there."

Draco's demeanour changed instantly as he turned to walk backwards in front of Harry, adopting a persona that was much more like the boy Harry knew, cocky and full of bravado. Gone was the quiet, bitter man, he was replaced with an eager to please and exciting new creature, and Harry was shocked by the sudden shift in personality. "It's £50 for me to come with you, maybe a bit of kissing and anything on top of that cost extra. Depends what you have in mind." He took Harry's hands, winking, and then leaning in to whisper in his ear, his voice low and captivating. "If you're really good, you might get a discount."

Harry felt his breath against his cheek, startlingly hot against the chill of the night. He slid his hands up Draco's arms, pushing gently against his shoulders. He couldn't hide his blush at Draco's voice, but he knew it wasn't right, not like this. "Draco, wait. That's not what I want. I want to help you, not use you. You don't have to do this…" He saw Draco's face drop, the act shattered by Harry's rejection.

"Oh of course, Potter the Hero, watch him save me for a night and then dump me when he realises how broken I am. I know this story, Potter, and it doesn't end well. I'm not going to be your daily good deed." He started shrugging the jacket off again, but Harry's strong hands stopped him. He suddenly stepped forward, getting right in his face.

"Dammit, Malfoy, you're the one putting time limits and restrictions on this! I told you, I'm willing to pay you enough that you never have to do this again. You deserve so much more than this!" His breathing was harsh, and his face was so close to him he could smell him, smell the cheap cologne, stale cigarettes, and a faint hint of alcohol. He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath, and reigning in his anger. He felt it slowly melting away from his veins as he focused on calming himself. He took a step back, and spoke, eyes still shut tightly. "This is my house. If you want to come in, stay for the night, and get a good night's rest and some decent food, then come in. But if not, I won't force you. The choice is yours, Draco."

He turned without looking back, and opened the gate to the house, opening the front door, and climbing the stairs to the entrance of his flat. He heard Draco's footsteps behind him, and felt a wave of relief wash over him. "Thank you." Harry murmured softly as he unlocked the door.

Draco followed him in, and put his hand on Harry's shoulder. "No, Harry, Thank you. I…I'm sorry for acting how I did, I just…. Ever since the war, everyone has treated me like dirt, used me, and I…I expected you to be the same…"

Harry turned to face him, and saw Draco in the light for the first time. He looked like he did in the 6th year, pale, sickly and grey, but now there was something else. He was defeated, broken and fractured, but he was not weak. Harry could see faint bruises on his face, his wrists, his shoulders, and he had no doubt there were more scattered about his body. "You're welcome, Draco." He gently reached forward, slowly reaching around his shoulders to pull the taller man down in a hug. He was certain that this was the first time in a long time that someone had touched him in a caring way without expecting something in return.

Draco stiffened, but then relaxed, returning the hug, his arms tightening around Harry's waist and he buried his head in Harry's shoulder. He had forgotten what it was like to be hugged, no one had since his mother died. Harry held him, gently stroking the back of his head. He had no idea how long they stayed like this, wrapped up in each other, but eventually, Draco pulled away. "Erm…Do you have a shower or something? I feel kind of…dirty."

Harry smiled gently. "Why don't I run you a bath and I'll fix you something to eat whilst you have it. No offense, but you kinda look like death." He joked, trying to lighten the mood. When he nodded, he took Draco's hand and led him to sit down on the soft leather sofa. "Wait right here. I'll be back in a second."

Draco watched as he walked from the room, and then he looked around him. The room was a reasonable size, and contain the living room on one end, closer to the door, and a modern kitchen on the other, with white cupboards and surfaces. The other end of the room contrasted, with faded vintage furniture, mismatched and scattered about the room. It seemed cost, comfortable, and warm, with blankets draped over the sofa and a soft wool rug on the floor in front of the softly flickering fireplace. There was a large bookshelf in the corner of the room, filled with a large number of books. Above the fire, there was a row of photos, both Muggle and wizard, and Draco crossed the room to get a closer look.

Some of them contained pictures he'd expected, him Weasley and Granger, the DA, a picture of a young couple he suspected were Harry's parents- the man in the photo was eerily similar to Harry himself. The same couple appeared in another photo along with people he recognised, Sirius, his mother's estranged cousin, and Lupin, their old teacher. But it was the muggle photo's that intrigued him the most. Harry, as a child, hiding at the back of a photo behind 3 other people, a fat man with his equally fat looking son, and a thin woman. There were several that seemed quite recent, showing Harry at a party with his arms wrapped around a blonde man, smiling happily, laughing at a private joke. They seemed unaware that these photos were being taken. He heard Harry return to the room, and his curiosity overwhelmed him. "Who is he?" he asked softly.

Harry moved across the room quickly and grabbed the photos of the man off the fire place, throwing them towards a waste bin across the room. Draco saw a raw pain in his eyes, and instantly knew he shouldn't have asked. He ached to comfort harry the way that he had to him earlier, but felt himself frozen to the spot, waiting for an answer. When harry finally spoke, there were tears welling up in his eyes, and his voice was hoarse. "He's no one. Not anymore…."


End file.
